The most dangerous thing we give up too early

Choosing less doesn’t protect us; it quietly denies who we could become

by Paul Kearley

I was sitting with a group of eight young adults at a small business college, talking about what it would take for them to get hired.

The more we talked, the clearer it became: They didn’t really know what the business world expected of them.

More concerning than that — they didn’t know what they wanted for their lives either.

So the conversation shifted. From résumés and interviews to values and vision. I asked them to write a personal vision for themselves — five years into the future.

Some jumped in immediately, writing fast, filling the page, then flipping it over to keep going.

One young woman just stared at the blank paper.

“I don’t know what to write,” she said.

Every question I asked her was met with the same answer: “I don’t know.”

From where I sat, it wasn’t that she didn’t know. It was that she wouldn’t go there.

Finally, she pushed back. “This is a silly exercise. I don’t want to do it.”

“Okay,” I said. “Who’s next?”

When we wrapped up, I asked them to share their visions out loud so we could encourage one another and build momentum. One by one, they stood and spoke.

Then Jackie stood up.

Jackie was 18. Attractive. A dancer and figure skater. She had trained with Joseé Chouinard and had won several competitions. She brought great energy to the class — confident, engaged, alive.

When it was her turn, she stood, took a breath, and said something that stunned me into silence.

“My vision is to leave this college, get a normal job for a little while, make enough money to go to Alberta to be with my boyfriend, get pregnant, and have him take care of me.”

I waited for the punchline.

It never came.

“You’re kidding… right?” I asked.

“No,” she said. “If I get pregnant, he’ll never leave me. And I won’t have to work.”

I chose my words carefully.

“Jackie,” I said, “life doesn’t work like that. There are no guarantees — other than someday, we’re all going to die. Everything else is uncertain.”

I continued, gently but honestly.

“A vision should inspire you to become more than you are today. It should create a sense of ‘I can do that’ — something that pulls you forward with confidence and energy.”

Then I said the part that mattered most.

“Putting your entire future into someone else staying with you… that’s not a vision. That’s fear. And you are standing at the door of your great adventure with every key in your hand — and choosing to drop them in the dirt.”

“You are so much more than this. I wish you could see that.”

It wasn’t my place to tell her what she should want. Only she could decide that.

But I remembered being 18. Starting out. Feeling the world open in front of me.

Pregnancy to keep someone from leaving me wasn’t even on the list.

I wanted adventure. I wanted freedom. I wanted choice.

She wanted certainty — even if it meant shrinking her future to get it.

Of all the things people throw away in life, throwing away their future is the most heartbreaking.

We do it when we cling to the comfort of today. But today only lasts 24 hours. After that, it’s gone.

So let me ask you:

If you could be 18 again, what would you write for your vision? If life gave you a mulligan, what would you do differently?

Would you try to repeat today — or would you honour it as a memory while creating something more?

I hope you’d choose more.

More learning. More living. More courage.

Because choosing less doesn’t protect us — it quietly denies who we could become.

This week, take a moment to re-evaluate your goals. Get them out of your head and into your life.

When you do, you won’t wonder where your life went.

You’ll be creating it — on purpose.